Sometimes
by Zagury
Summary: Your mouth tasted of peppermint and your hair smelled like honeysuckle and your skin, so soft and delectable, would move against mine in ways that we often forgot were so wonderful.


Sometimes it seemed like you were always sleeping. You were napping with the cat whenever I got home from practice with the Harpies or you were going to bed early because you often worked yourself to death. If you stayed up long enough to listen to one of the programs we like on the wireless with me, you were constantly yawning and stretching and resting your head on my shoulder. Sometimes you'd fall asleep like that and I'd spend hours twirling your long blonde hair on the tips of my fingers, listening to the wireless and planning out practice for the next day.

But sometimes it seemed like you had enough energy to fuel several small children for a couple of days. I hardly ever knew what to do with you then (even sex didn't calm you down enough to sit still). We'd go for walks in the countryside but you just wanted to run. I'd take you down to the Quidditch pitch and let you ride my secondary broom, watching your hair trail behind you in your wake. That usually got a good bit of hype out of you and you'd let me take you to dinner after that.

And sometimes it was the best of both. We'd come home from the Quidditch pitch and dinner and you'd still be riled up. We'd feed the cat and have a glass or three of wine and by that time red wine wasn't the only thing making us drunk. Your kisses would be enthusiastic and paralyzing and oh so addictive. Your mouth tasted of peppermint and your hair smelled like honeysuckle and your skin, so soft and delectable, would move against mine in ways that we often forgot were so wonderful.

You'd sleepily kiss me after that and your breathing would even out in a matter of minutes. I'd flick my wand and have what was left of the dim lighting go out; another flick and the curtains would open so that I could admire you with the soft light of nighttime coming through. Streetlights would glow on your body and I would trace the pattern of your spine, press my mouth to the blade of your shoulder, let my fingers tangle in your hair. Our sheets would rest on your hip and your arm would cushion your head, the whole of my palm stroking up and down your side. I would revel in you because I could rarely do anything else.

Sometimes you'd wake up and turn over and I'd watch as it took you a few minutes to compose yourself. You'd sit up and stretch, look around and muss your hair, get up and brush your teeth without even glancing at me. You'd come back in with your robe loosely tied around you and ask, "What day is it?" (We had long ago reached that point of life where days became weeks and we only noticed the finish of one when we got our owl from my mum asking if we'd be at dinner that evening.)

Today I told you, "It's Sunday." You smiled and untied your robe, letting it fall to the floor and eagerly jumping back into bed with me, planting those kisses on my lips as though you had all the time in the world to lay here with me.

"Have you slept yet?" You said, placing strands of hair behind my ear.

"Maybe."

"You haven't."

"Nope."

You rolled your eyes and buried your face in my neck. I felt your fingers tracing over my collarbone; I was sure that you felt my heart pick up the pace because I could feel your mouth curve into a smile against my skin.

"We could sleep together."

"We've already done that, Loon."

"Very funny." You said. You had this knack for intoxicating me with slow, heavy kisses, somehow rolling us so that you lay under me and our hair spilled together, a runny canvas in the late morning. "Really, though," you say into my mouth, "you should get some sleep."

"Maybe later."

You laughed, bright and crisp—my favorite sound. Your hand moved to the back of my neck and pulled me closer to you, although I had previously calculated that as impossible. Your smile felt endless and I pulled away for only a moment just to see it spread over your face, radiant and perfect. The palm of your hand smoothed over my cheek.

"I think that could work."


End file.
